


i wanna hide the truth (i wanna shelter you)

by starkology (jawnwatson)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Frottage, M/M, Run-On Sentences
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-07
Updated: 2013-07-07
Packaged: 2017-12-17 22:32:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/872715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jawnwatson/pseuds/starkology
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not as if Derek doesn't have enough problems.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i wanna hide the truth (i wanna shelter you)

**Author's Note:**

> takes place sometime after "unleashed." beta by the fantastic [pr1nc3ssp34ch](http://archiveofourown.org/users/pr1nc3ssp34ch/pseuds/pr1nc3ssp34ch). title from "demons" by imagine dragons.

It’s not as if Derek doesn’t have enough problems: the alpha pack is closing in, Scott’s mooning after Allison and stubbornly refusing almost every attempt Derek makes to bridge the gap between them – Isaac won’t talk to him (and rightly so, though Derek hates to admit it), Boyd doesn’t trust him, and Cora’s off doing whatever it is she does with Peter. So it’s not like there isn’t a lot to worry about without Stiles fucking Stilinski and his stupid pink mouth, all open and wet, bottom lip slightly swollen where he’s chewed on it, sitting on his couch with a huge tome on mythology in his lap.

Honestly, Derek’s not even sure what Stiles is doing in his loft. He’d arrived an hour before soaked in rainwater, and mumbled something about needing a quiet place to read, then set up camp on Derek’s couch. He feels uncomfortable, sitting at the desk and trying to stare anywhere but Stiles, but the kid is either ignoring Derek’s awkwardness or just not paying attention, which is rare. Stiles notices everything – it’s one of his more useful traits. 

He’s fidgeting, unsure of what to do, when he decides enough is enough and slides from his chair, strides to the couch and glares down at Stiles until he looks up.

“What are you doing here?” Derek all-but growls, crossing his arms and frowning; Stiles doesn’t even bat and eyelash, which means that Derek is starting to lose his touch.

“Researching, what do you think?” Stiles says, and then flips a page like Derek isn’t even there. But Derek can see it now, the tense line of his shoulders and the little crease in between his eyebrows.

“Could go to Scott’s,” he mutters after a moment, sprawling on the other side of the couch. Stiles immediately tenses up more.

“Nah, think I’ll leave Scott to his blossoming bromance,” is all he says, and his tone isn’t exactly bitter, but it is sad, and Derek feels momentarily bad for forcing Isaac right to Scott’s doorstep. It was necessary, but he still feels bad, and Stiles looks small all of the sudden, sitting on his ratty couch. Small and alone, like the whole world is on his shoulders, and Derek can’t help but wonder when the last time someone noticed Stiles; noticed how he’s running himself ragged and how his eyes are harder than they’ve ever been. Stiles takes care of everyone else, but no one ever seems to be taking care of him.

Derek grunts, unsure of what to say. Stiles just sighs and sinks into the couch, eyes back on his book. Rain patters against the windows, and Derek thinks, and thinks, and thinks. Then he sighs, because now he can’t stop thinking about the tense line of Stiles’ shoulders and how he needs to be taken care of, and that _appeals_ to the wolf in an embarrassing way. He eyes Stiles’ wet clothes with distaste, notes the damp patch on the couch behind him and stands, stalking over to the trunk he keeps his clothes on. He fishes out a henley and some sweats, tosses some boxers that are too small for him onto the pile, and then moves across the room to dump them in Stiles’ lap.

The embarrassment this is probably going to cause him is worth the surprised look on that baby-sweet face and the way Stiles flails so hard his book falls onto the ground.

“Go take a shower. I’m ordering pizza.” Is all Derek grunts, already crossing the loft before Stiles can answer and calling up and order for an extra large meat lovers. When he turns around, Stiles is giving him a strange look, so Derek raises an eyebrow expectantly and watches in satisfaction as Stiles beats a hasty retreat to the bathroom.

 

\+ + +

 

The pizza arrives before Stiles finishes, so Derek turns on the TV and flicks it to some movie – it’s got a lot of explosions, so Stiles will probably like it. He kicks out the footrests of the couch and tosses some blankets on the thing, puts the pizza in the middle and settles on one side. He can hear Stiles, shuffling around the hall and he can smell the sour stench of nervousness coming off of him in waves.

“Stop standing around and come here.” Derek calls, turning to watch Stiles shuffle into the room. He looks good in Derek’s clothes; smells better with Derek’s scent on him. Derek waits until Stiles is settled then tosses the blanket over him and nods to the pizza. Then he turns to the TV and ignores the wide-eyed look he can feel drilling into the side of his head.

“Dude, I don’t know what’s going on right now. Are you okay? No wolfy emergencies?”

Derek doesn’t even dignify that with a response, just turns the TV up pointedly and listens for the sound of Stiles giving in and helping himself to food. The wolf purrs, content to have fed and clothed him, and Derek relaxes. 

Soon enough, he can hear Stiles’ breathing even out, so Derek takes the pizza into the kitchen. When he comes back, Stiles is curled on the couch, eyes barely open and staring at Derek.

“I don’t know what’s going on,” he mutters, “but I like it.” Derek snorts, slides onto the couch beside Stiles. There’s a hand on his shoulder and when he looks, Stiles is staring at him uncertainly, lips parted. He looks sleepy and vulnerable; he smells like Derek and his hair is even more mussed than usual and honestly, Derek cannot be expected to ignore that. He reaches out for him.

He runs his thumb over the sweetly curved bow of Stiles’ lower lip, watches the skin catch on his and licks his lips in sympathy, looks up into the blown pupils surrounded by sinfully long lashes and smiles; slides his hand from pink mouth to long, pale neck; thumbs at the moles that dot the path to the vulnerable nape at Stiles’ neck and cups his hand there. Draws him forward slowly and carefully, licks his own lips and watches Stiles’ lashes lower slowly, then says fuck it and closes the distance. Stiles’ top lip fits perfectly against his, and when he licks it until it shines Stiles shudders and grabs at his shoulders, mouth opening up beneath Derek’s and it’s perfect, slick and hot and awkward, but he keeps his hand on the curve of Stiles’ neck and guides him, makes it deep and filthy then slows it down. 

Predictably, Stiles yawns.

Immediately, he flushes the rosiest pink Derek has ever seen and covers his eyes, groaning. But Derek is smiling, watching the curve of his mouth, swollen and bitten to a pretty red. Stiles peeks at him from behind his hand and Derek can’t help himself – pulls him between his legs and against his chest and curls them together on the couch with a blanket tossed over them, and they don’t speak so Derek listens to the TV and the rain and the _bumpbumpbump_ of Stiles’ heart.  


It’s good. It’s really good, and when Stiles lifts his head and looks up at Derek with uncertainty in his eyes he girds his loins and squeezes his eyes shut.  


“The wolf notices things. It wants to take care of you.” He grits out, and Stiles’ face falls. Derek inwardly flails, tightens his hands around Stiles arms.  


“I do too.” He admits quietly, and Stiles grins, full and bright. 

“What else does the wolf wanna do to me?” He says, wiggling his eyebrows. Derek can’t help himself then: he flips them over and presses Stiles into the couch, watches the flush raise up his neck in satisfaction. When he rolls his hips, Stiles throws back his head and gasps. Derek leans forward, scrapes his stubble down the line of that pale neck and listens to the little noises Stiles makes. He covers Stiles' mouth with his and lets him lick in; he tastes like pizza, and underneath that the musky, cinnamon-sweet smell that Stiles wears around like a second skin. It's perfect, and Derek could go on kissing Stiles forever if he'd let him. Before too long, though, Stiles is wriggling under Derek, canting his hips up and groaning. Derek can work with that.

He fits himself into the cradle of those long legs and presses _down_ , Stiles’ hands scrabbling at his back desperately. When he pulls away to unbutton his jeans, Stiles whines high in his throat and reaches for him, and Derek curses and shoves them down far enough to get his cock out. The sweatpants slide over Stiles’ hips easily enough and Derek holds up his hand to Stiles.

“Lick,” he commands, and holds his breath while Stiles does. When he gets his saliva-slicked hand around both of them and starts jerking, Stiles makes a noise like he’s dying that goes straight to Derek’s dick.

“Not gonna last long,” Stiles groans, eyelashes fluttering. Derek just grunts, speeds up his hand, and leans down to kiss him again, to swallow his moans and bite at his lips. The slip-slide of their cocks and the silky rub of Stiles’ lips on his does him in: when he comes, he buries his face in Stiles neck and sighs, happy.  
Before he can pull back, there’s a splash of wetness against his wrist and Stiles is shuddering underneath him. Derek pulls back, watches those long lashes blink slowly, and Stiles grins at him blindingly.

“Well, what are you waiting for? Go get a washcloth or something.” He says, pushing at Derek’s chest. Derek raises an eyebrow, lifts his wrist to his mouth and licks at the come there. Stiles groans and closes his eyes.

“Stop that. I know I’m a teenager, but my dick cannot get hard again that fast.” 

Derek shrugs and goes to the bathroom. When he comes back, Stiles wriggles around while he wipes them both down and Derek just shrugs and tosses the rag over the couch. Predictably, Stiles flails when he lifts him up and deposits him into his lap, but once he’s settled he curls into Derek’s chest like he wants to burrow into it and live there forever.

Derek might let him.

**Author's Note:**

> this was my first attempt at teen wolf fic, and my first attempt at anything vaguely sexual. written for [#operation positivity](http://www.tumblr.com/tagged/operation-positivity) over on tumblr.


End file.
